


Drive

by orphan_account



Series: Steve is a Truck Stop Hooker [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Mentions of Steve's family and friends, Steve Feels, hooker!AU, mentions of Bucky Barnes - Freeform, past Steve/Bucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 05:16:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2012355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been five years. Everything has turned out exactly as Steve imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drive

**Author's Note:**

> more of that truck stop hooker!au, more of a prequel. 
> 
> mentions of Steve's family and his past relationship with Bucky.
> 
> i creyes

Steve woke up outside a bar in Bucky's Trans Am, feeling hungover and in serious need to shower. He smelled like booze, weed, and cigarette smoke, but he mostly smelled of sweat and sex. He wanted to wash it off. Briefly, he considered not doing so, because it was bound to happen again that night, so there was really no point in washing himself if he was going to be dirty by later in the day.

 _Well_ , he thought to himself,  _if you have that mentality, then there's not a reason to do anything, really._

He rolled over in his backseats, reaching down and sifting through his numerous drawings. Mostly, they were sketches of different landscapes and landmarks he'd seen on his way to Virginia. At least, that's where he thought he was. He really didn't know. He really just drove and drove until he didn't know how much further he would get (the needle was already almost on E when he arrived at the gas station) until he decided to stop for the night. Or, the morning. He didn't really know anymore.

He sat up and looked around. The shadows and the light of the day suggested it was a little after noon. The heat was terrible, too. It was mid-June, the dead of summer. He looked down at himself, studying the state of his clothing to see if it was appropriate for anyone to see him. He decided he didn't care and opened the door of his car, stepping onto the dirty parking lot at the gas station. There were a lot of semis there, mostly for supermarkets, some for furniture stores, and others for beer companies. Steve looked at himself in the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair. He needed to shower.

A man that must've been no older than thirty walked past Steve's car, on his way back to his truck. He had a hat on and a tight shirt with baggy jeans. He looked like he had some build to him, and he looked pretty attractive. Steve walked over to him.

"Hey," he said, stepping in front of the man. He was from Latin American background, Steve assumed. "Do you know where there's a place to shower around here?"

"You don't have a shower at your house?" The man asked. He kind of had an accent.

Steve pointed at the Trans Am. "That's my house. Look like there's a shower in there?"

The man looked him over. "You don't look like a homeless person."

"I've gotten that before," Steve said, shrugging. "Can you help me out, or...?"

The man looked him over again. "I know of a place, but if you want me to show you the way, it'll cost you."

Steve smirked. "And what  _you're_ thinking of is going to cost  _you_."

"I'm not paying you," the man said, rolling his eyes. "You're getting a shower out of it. I'll give you ten bucks for food, but that's it, kid. How old are you?"

"Twenty-two."

"And you live out of your car?"

"Yeah. So?"

"That's awful young. Parents can't afford to keep you under their roof or somethin'?"

Steve looked at the ground. "They've been dead five years." He looked back up at the man. "For the better. Mom was depressed, dad was abusive and a drunk."

The man put a hand on Steve's shoulder. "No matter what, it's never for the better to lose your parents."

Steve smiled sadly. 

"C'mon."

* * *

 

Steve saw the man's name was Tim Juarez, and he was shipping food and beverages to a Target in Richmond. He took Steve to a motel in a nearby town, where Tim apparently knew the owner.

The motel was seedy, tucked away, and all-around sketchy. Steve's hand was in his pocket, clutched around his switchblade just in case. Tim showed him to a room, where he then proceeded to kiss Steve's neck.

Steve looked around the room while Tim started to lift up his shirt and rub his belly. "Can we at least do it in the shower? There's no way the bed's clean enough."

Tim laughed against his shoulder and pushed him toward the bathroom, which wasn't all that much better, but still cleaner than the bedroom. 

Tim stripped his clothes and followed him into the shower. Steve braced his hands against the wall while Tim pushed two fingers into his hole, which was still loose from the other night. Tim asked him how, and Steve told him it was none of his business. Steve braced himself to put up a fight, in case Tim didn't like that, but instead, Tim shoved his head against the tile wall while he pushed into Steve.

Steve allowed him to finish on his back, before the man kissed his cheek. His breath smelled like alcohol. 

"Sexy thing like you could be a model. Pornstar, even," Tim said, stepping out of the shower and onto the towel he'd laid out in front of the shower. He tossed the condom in the trash.

Steve, still leaning against the tile wall, gave him a small smile. "That's sweet."

"Well, chop chop," Tim said, clapping his hands. "We gotta get back to the truck stop."

"Why?" Steve asked.

"So I can get you back to your car," Tim said. "We don't got a lot of time, I'm already running late."

Steve stared straight ahead, not meeting Tim's eyes for a second. "You go. I'll walk."

"That's a far walk, kid," Tim said. Steve laughed at how genuinely concerned he sounded.

Steve just shook his head. "I've got nowhere else to be. I can waste all the time I want."

Tim made a small sound, like he was going to say something. Instead, he pulled out his wallet, and placed a fifty on the counter. "It's all I've got on me. Be careful out there, Steve."

Steve didn't look at him when he left. The warm water felt nice on his skin, he didn't ever want to leave the shower, but after almost two hours, the water was getting ice cold, and he knew he needed to leave before Bucky's Trans Am was stolen. 

He washed his hair and body and turned off the water, using one of the towels to dry himself off. They smelled like mildew. 

When he left, Steve took a small bottle of men's body spray and one of the motel's complimentary sticks of deodorant (an odd thing to have, but Steve wasn't complaining) and left. 

There were grey clouds overhead, he knew it was going to rain soon, but he didn't ask for a ride as he walked down the highway in his old sneakers and his torn white shirt and jeans. The air was still warm around him, even as thunder crackled above his head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw lightning to the east, but he didn't care. He kept walking.

He was getting tired by the time the rain started. He could see the truck stop very far in the distance, so he set his mind on other things, hoping to take the focus off how much his legs ached. 

He looked over at the fields to his left. There were pretty purple flowers growing near the fence. The kind of flowers that Bucky had on his casket at his funeral.

Steve looked down at the ground, watching his left foot step forward, watching his right foot lean to the side like it always did when he walked. Bucky used to kick his leg when Steve would do it, which resulted in a lot of kicking and a lot of punching Bucky's arm from Steve.

He missed Bucky. He missed him so much. All he wanted was to see Bucky's smile again, hear his laugh again, watch Bucky's eyes light up when Steve would kiss him. He thought about the first time he kissed Bucky.

* * *

 

_"That drawing sucks," Bucky said, ripping it out from under Steve's hands._

_"What the hell?"_

_"I mean, the proportions are all off, Steve. I know you can do better than this," Bucky waved the picture in front of him._

_"Give it back, Buck," Steve groaned._

_"What is this even supposed to be?" Bucky asked, looking over the picture._

_"It's a picture of a house that I saw, nothing major."_

_"So where's the house?" Bucky pointed to the middle of the paper. "All I see is a bunch of misshapen, oddly spaced trees. Which, by the way, don't look to even be the same kind of tree."_

_"Well, I'm not finished with it yet," Steve said, reaching up and snatching the paper out of Bucky's hand. "When I am, you'll be the first one to see it."_

_"Really?" Bucky asked, looking down at Steve and biting his lip. He leaned down and pushed closer and closer up to Steve's face, so that their noses were almost touching. "I feel honored."_

_Steve looked back at him, then ducked his head. "Bucky."_

_"Yeah?"_

_"Why do you keep doing that?"_

_"Doing what?"_

_"Almost kissing me."_

_"When you told me you liked me, I assumed you wanted me to kiss you."_

_"Our parents don't even know yet."_

_"They will. We'll tell them. It'll all be fine," Bucky tried his hardest to sound reassuring. He grabbed Steve's chin and tipped it up so he could look Steve in the eyes. "I promise it'll be fine."_

_"I don't think so," Steve said quietly._

_"Maybe you should stop thinking."_

_"I can't stop thinking about it," Steve said, shaking his head. "It's all I ever think about."_

_"I meant that you should stop thinking in general."_

_Steve shook his head. "That's not a good idea."_

_"Neither is over-thinking things."_

_"I don't over-think things."_

_"That's a lie."_

_"Not exactly."_

_"Then kiss me," Bucky said. "If you don't over-think things, then fuckin' kiss me."_

_Steve stared at him._

_And then he leaned up and kissed him._

_Bucky's hand was on his hip, holding him there while he traced Steve's jaw with his other hand. Bucky's lips moved with Steve's, mostly sloppy and out-of-sync, but it still made Steve shiver and tighten his grasp on Bucky's arm. He was acting like a scared little kid hiding behind Bucky again, like he was waiting for Bucky to take control. As if Steve wasn't finally getting the muscular build he'd been wanting since freshman year. Inside, he still felt small, and that probably hindered him._

_Bucky didn't seem to care, however, because when Steve moaned, Bucky grabbed him and yanked him on top, grinding up against Steve. Steve's grip shifted to Bucky's shoulders, grinding down against him._

_Steve made a high noise, and Bucky pulled away, panting, "We can't do that if you're gonna be loud. My mom's home."_

_"I can be quiet."_

_"No, you can't, but that's fine. We'll do it when she's not home."_

_"When does she leave?"_

_"She has to go to the store in, like, an hour."_

_Steve smiled and picked at the cotton of Bucky's shirt. "Okay."_

* * *

Steve blinked away the water in his eyes, lifting his head back up to see that he was on a quarter of a mile away from the truck stop. His (Bucky's) Trans Am was safe, untouched in the parking lot.

The rain was getting heavier, so if Steve had actually ended up crying, the rain would disguise it.

He hated thinking of Bucky, and yet he could never stop. Bucky was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he hated so much- _so_ much-that Bucky didn't get more time on Earth, like he deserved. He certainly deserved it more than most people that were alive. Bucky was better to him than anyone else in his life, and when Bucky's mother told Steve he was in a car accident, and wasn't going to make it, Bucky had told him that the Trans Am was his to keep, and that all Bucky wanted to tell him before he died was that Steve would always be the man he loved most, over anyone on earth. 

He told Steve he was sorry.

Steve didn't stay to see him die.

* * *

 

Steve walked up to his car and unlocked the driver's side door, poking his head inside to make sure there was nothing missing. The sun was getting lower and lower in the sky, and he needed to get back on the road. 

Where he was going, he had no idea. He was just... driving. 

His plan was to just keep driving around until he died.

He walked into the station and asked the clerk to put fifty dollars on the fifth gas pump. He drove his car to the pump, filled it with gas, and went back inside to get something to drink and eat. 

"You need more than two dollars, sir," the young clerk told him. He was younger than Steve.

"I got a fifty cent soda and a one dollar candy bar," Steve said. "How is that more than two dollars?"

"Actually, the fifty cent soda deal ended yesterday, we just haven't taken the sign down. The price is back up to one-seventy-one."

"Are you fucking with me?" Steve asked, totally in disbelief. "Almost two dollars for a fucking soda?"

"Sir, I don't make the prices, but-"

"Shut up," Steve groaned, grabbing the soda and tossing it into the trash can behind the counter. "Just the candy bar."

"That was unnecessary," the clerk said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Did you need to throw that soda in the garbage? You couldn't simply put it back in the-"

"No, I couldn't," Steve said, raising his voice a little.

"Oh?" The clerk raised his brows. "Why is that?"

"I didn't fuckin' feel like it," Steve mumbled.

"There's no need for fowl language, sir."

Steve looked at him. "Fuck you."

"Leave the store, sir," the clerk demanded. 

"I want my fucking candy bar."

"Stop using that language and maybe I'll ring it up."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Fine. Sorry."

The clerk glared at him as he ran the candy bar over the bar code scanner. 

Steve left, tossing the change on the ground before leaving, and walked back toward his car. When he opened the driver's side door, he glanced up and saw the passenger side door of a truck open, with a liter bottle of Diet Coke on the seat. 

It wasn't exactly his favorite, but he saw an opportunity, and he took it. He sprinted over to the truck and reached inside, swiping the bottle off the seat and finding twenty dollars under it. He quickly looked around, and grabbed the cash. He rubbed the bill together and found two other twenties.

Sixty bucks. Someone just left sixty bucks in a shitty hiding place. 

He turned and sprinted back toward his car.

"Hey!"

He turned and saw a man with long black hair running at him. 

"Thief! He stole my money, right out of my truck! Thief!"

Steve looked around and saw other truckers looking at him. One made a step toward him and he slid into his car, slamming the door behind him and turning the engine over.

The man with the long black hair opened his car door and grabbed Steve's shirt. On instinct, Steve bit down on the man's arm as hard as he could. The man screamed, yanking his arm back and kicking the running boards on Steve's car.

Steve stepped on the gas pedal and the car lurched forward, sputtering a bit before taking off out of the parking lot. Steve quickly slammed his door shut and sped out of the parking lot. 

Once he could no longer see the truck stop in his rear view mirror, he slowed the car down to the speed limit and bit down on his lip.

He looked behind him for the bottle of Diet Coke he'd thrown in the backseat. He spotted it and reached for it. 

There was a sketch of Bucky underneath it.

Steve stared at the eyes in the sketch, and then turned back around, pulling off the side of the road and stopping his car. He turned around and reached for Bucky's picture.

He wouldn't approve of what Steve had done; he'd be so disappointed, and not just in the fact that Steve just stole sixty dollars from a man. It wasn't the first thing he'd stolen, it certainly wasn't the first money he'd stolen, and it would absolutely not be the last.

He stared at the sketch he'd drawn of Bucky and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Bucky. I-I didn't... I-"

He was going to say that he'd never expected his life to get to where it had. That was a lie. When Bucky, his mother, and his father had died, all within the span of six months, five years prior to that summer, Bucky's mother offered to let Steve stay with her until he finished high school and could go off to art school.

He insisted he could live on his own, and started to pay his rent by working at a nearby diner, while he let his landlord fuck him every other day. Eventually, the landlord grew tired of him, and Steve was forced to have sex with other men (and women) to afford the rent for the apartment he'd shared with his parents prior to their deaths.

He knew he'd find himself going nowhere eventually, if he didn't stop. And he tried, but there was no way he was going to make a living from making eight dollars an hour at Denny's.

When the rest of his neighborhood found out, they threatened to have him arrested for prostitution. He had no choice; he had to leave.

That landed him having sex with men at random around the tri-state area. That landed him running off with a gang of bikers in New Jersey and started a brush fire. 

He was the freest he'd ever been. He had nowhere to go, nothing he had to do, no weight on his shoulders, nothing tying him down anywhere. He was acting like a fucking lunatic, getting drunk every other night, smoking joints like they were cigarettes, offering himself to anyone who wanted him. 

As much as he loved Bucky, as much as it hurt to look back and realize that the future he'd envisioned as a child was completely disintegrated, he never felt more liberated. 

And yet, as free as he was, he was completely, utterly fucking terrified. 

Steve pulled back onto the road and headed for Richmond.

 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @ sidekikcs.tumblr.com!!


End file.
